Chapter 1 - The Gala Mistake
The Gala Mistake
Olivia
The moment I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror, I knew the dress was a mistake.
The red satin hugs every curve, sculpted so perfectly it might as well have been airbrushed on by a mischievous stylist with a grudge against comfort, the slit at my thigh creeping higher every time I shift my weight.
Jas swore it was “gala-perfect,” insisting I’d look like a bombshell and not, as I feared, like I’d been gift-wrapped by a horny fashion intern.
I’d rolled my eyes, but a small part of me had clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she was right.
Right now, I just feel like a tightly wrapped sausage casing with commitment issues.
I tug at the neckline for the hundredth time, trying to convince myself I can pull this off. That I can survive a night filled with champagne, flashbulbs, and the one man I swore I’d never let see me crumble again.
Ethan Reed.
A wave of anger runs through my chest, chased by the echo of his name.
It’s not just the memory of him—it’s the way his absence still carves hollow spaces in me when I least expect it.
My stomach flips, a tight twist of dread and something else I don’t want to name.
I remember the last night we spoke—his voice low, laced with guilt and charm, fingers brushing my cheek like he already knew it was goodbye. And me, stupidly hoping it wasn’t.
I close my eyes and inhale, willing my spine to straighten and my stomach to stop knotting.
I almost didn’t come tonight. I had my hand on the zipper of my suitcase and half a mind to claim a stomach flu.
But Jas threatened to drag me here herself in her fuzzy slippers—and I can’t exactly no-show a charity gala hosted by the very company that signs my paychecks.
“You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection, forcing a smile. “It’s just one night. You’ve handled worse.”
But even I don’t believe it.
A knock rattles the door. Jas’s voice filters in, muffled and impatient. “Liv, let’s go. The car’s waiting. And if you mess up your lipstick again, I’m not fixing it.”
I swipe a final coat of gloss and square my shoulders.
Here goes nothing.
The ballroom is already buzzing when we arrive. Crystal chandeliers rain golden light across designer gowns and tuxedos, casting everything in a shimmer that feels just shy of fake. My heels click against polished marble, too loud in my ears, echoing like a countdown.
I loop my arm through Jas’s and keep my chin up, even though my stomach is doing Olympic-level somersaults.
“You look hot, by the way,” she whispers. “Like a sexy corporate assassin.”
I snort. “Great. Maybe I’ll kill someone with my awkwardness.”
She grins. “That’s the spirit.”
We pass a cluster of board members laughing too loud over their champagne flutes. I flash a practiced smile, nodding like I belong. Like I’m not secretly scanning the room for a pair of eyes I’ve tried to forget.
Ethan’s not here. Yet.
But he will be. As a special guest of honor at tonight’s gala, he’ll most certainly be here. Hand in hand with that new, skinny blonde he’s seeing. And I need to be ready.
My fingers curl tighter around my clutch. Tonight, I’ll be unbothered. Unbreakable.
Even if it kills me.
Small talk is my armor tonight—thin and cracking, but it holds. I glide from one conversation to another, trading compliments and mildly inappropriate boardroom jokes with the finesse of someone who doesn’t feel like she’s about to suffocate in her own skin.
“Olivia, you clean up well,” one of the junior VPs says with a wink as he accepts a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
I smile tightly. “You too. I barely recognized you.”
He laughs, thankfully moving on, and I exhale slowly through my nose. The room is a blur of glittering dresses and polished smiles, but I can’t shake the feeling that everyone sees right through me.
An older board member, Mr. Halverson, stops mid-toast when I pass by. “Ah, there she is! The most efficient assistant on this coast. We were just talking about the Reed brothers, weren’t we, George?”
My blood goes ice cold.
I keep my face neutral, though my smile feels more forced. “Hopefully good things.”
“Always,” he says with a chuckle. “Can’t believe Alexander still hasn’t locked you down. You keep that company running.”
Laughter ripples, but I feel like I’m underwater. Locked down. Like I’m a contract waiting for signatures.
I nod politely and excuse myself to the bar before I do something truly on-brand like knock over the champagne tower.
My heels click too fast as I cross the room. I pretend I’m focused, in control. But inside, I’m unraveling.
I grip the edge of the bar and suck in a shaky breath.
The bartender eyes me sympathetically. “Vodka soda?”
I blink. “Is it that obvious?”
He just pours and I down the drink like it might wash away the whole damn past.
It takes me a second to realize I’m not alone.
“Still drinking cheap rail?” The voice slides in behind me, warm and familiar, soaked in smugness.
I turn slowly. Ethan Reed leans one elbow against the bar like we’re just two friends catching up—not ex-lovers with a history best buried in a shallow grave. He’s alone, his tux tailored but carelessly wrinkled, like he’s been leaning against too many doorframes trying to look important.
“Still lurking like a Bond villain with a LinkedIn profile?” I shoot back, arching a brow.
He laughs. “I’ve missed that dry humor of yours.”
I clear my throat and stand straighter. “Where’s your date?” I ask, mustering the straightest face ever, because the last thing I want is for him to think I care about the fact that he moved on so quickly from me, while I’m here still fighting the aftermath of his casual abandonment.
Ethan’s eyes trace a straight pattern from my face down to my feet and back. It makes me want to toss my drink all over his face. And at the same time, it makes me want to throw myself in his arms just so I can remember how it feels like to be held by him.
God, I hate him so much.
“She couldn’t make it,” he says, brushing his fingers through his hair. “She’s down with a flu.”
“Rebecca, was it?”
A smirk curves his mouth. “You’ve done your research.”
I scoff, heat scorching my eyelids. “You fucking wish, Ethan.”
He laughs. “There she is. I almost missed that pretty little bite.”
I grip my clutch tighter, nails digging into the seams. “Save it. Whatever you think this is, I’m not in the mood.”
“Relax.” He reaches for his glass, swirling the amber liquid like it might reveal my secrets. “Just saying hi. It’s been a while since… well. You know.”
Unfortunately, I do. Late nights. Secret rendezvous. Promises whispered and promptly broken. And the part where he abandoned me the second things got real. Dumped me one day and was fucking another woman the next.
“I heard you’ve been climbing,” he murmurs almost like he’s impressed. His gaze sweeps over me. “Making waves. Must be nice.”
“It is.” I smile, sharp as glass. I’m crumbling on the inside already, sick of this, of him, of everything. “Amazing what happens when you stop letting people walk all over you.”
His smirk twitches. “Is that what you think I did?”
I open my mouth, ready to deliver the knockout—but I feel it before I see him.
A warm hand slides to the small of my back, firm, possessive.
Alexander. My boss.
My breath catches.
“Is everything alright here?” His voice is calm, too calm. The kind that makes men like Ethan straighten their spine.
Ethan blinks. “Just chatting with Olivia.”
Alexander’s eyes never leave his brother’s face. “She’s with me.”
The words hit like a stone dropped into still water.
I stiffen, waiting for Ethan’s reaction. He snorts. “Right. Of course she is.”
And then he’s gone—vanishing into the crowd like he hadn’t just reached in and twisted something sharp inside me.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Alexander’s hand stays right where it is, quietly burning into me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly, heart thudding like it’s in my throat.
“Maybe not,” he replies, voice low, head tilted toward mine. “But I wanted to.”
His thumb brushes against my side, barely a touch, but it lights a fuse somewhere deep.
I swallow hard.
This isn’t a game I know how to play.
When the auctioneer’s voice booms over the speakers, the crowd starts shifting toward the center of the room.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “I forgot about the mystery date auction.”
Jas reappears at my side with a flute of champagne and a wicked grin. “Forgot? I live for this part. The company gets good press, the charity gets a fat check, and we get to ogle handsome men with commitment issues. What’s not to love?”
I glance toward the stage where the first “eligible bachelor” waves awkwardly at the crowd. He’s clearly terrified. “Hard pass.”
“You need to loosen up,” Jas whispers. “Bid on someone. It’s for a good cause.”
“No way. That’s how you end up slow-dancing with sweaty marketing interns.”
We laugh, and the tension in my shoulders eases—until I feel something nudge my hand. A paddle. Number 22.
“What is this?” I ask.
Jas winks. “Just in case.”
Before I can respond, the next bachelor is announced.
“Up next,” the announcer calls out, “is a mystery man you all know. He’s a sought after bachelor, known too well for knowing his way around a woman’s heart—but we’re keeping his identity a secret until he steps onstage. Let’s start the bidding at five hundred!”
Sounds like a player, but the crowd doesn’t seem to agree with me. They’re cheering so loudly for whoever this mystery guy is. Jas leans toward me. “C’mon, just wave it once.”
I hesitate, grip tightening on the paddle. “I’m not—”
“Do it.”
As the announcer is calling for the next bid, I raise my paddle into the air.
“Sold to paddle number twenty-two!” Wait, that doesn’t make any sense.
My mouth drops open.
Jas freezes, mirroring my confusion. “Wait, what? Why aren’t they trying to get more bids?”
As I stand there bewildered, Alexander Reed steps onto the stage, expression unreadable.